#mahito catching those hands lol

[murderofravens]

is this an okay time to say i want yuji to manhandle me

[undermine-the-instinct]

Stop looking at me with those eyes!! JJK Pt l | Pt ll | Pt lll

Characters: Sukuna, Mahito, Kenjaku, Choso.

Warnings: YANDERE. Minors DNI. Due to the nature of said characters I will classify this as yandere/ darkfic. Soft(?) Gore mentions.

(A.N:I don't know what you did to get these men's attention, but good fucking luck, lol)

Love is what they this, this lesser thing beings pursue for some semblance of worth, importance. A liability, and a weakness that {Sukuna} doesn't have. But he supposes that is love by human standards. Curses fare no better. He will not debate whether curses can love or not, he does not exist to either, and he will hold himself to no standards but his own.

You are soft and sweet in his arms, and he enjoys that. Your sounds please him, whether in pleasure or pain. He savors the taste of your blood on his tongue. He wants to rip you to shreds, but he holds himself back. It will be too troublesome to find someone good enough to replace you.

So he supposes that he loves you, in his own way. The only way that matters.

He admits that he greatly enjoys the way you look at him. Your eyes shine, and while mortal means of wealth never enticed him, these are the only jewels he wants to hold in his hands.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes."

You're held up against his side, cradled in one pair of arms, bloody and tired and limp. He is not quite sated after his latest binge, and so he holds you; the remains are scattered around you both, twitching and shivering in the open air. Much like you are, you have to stop that–Predator instincts demand he sinks his teeth into you. Your flesh is a delicacy that he knows well.

But your sweet eyes– so wide and tinged with horror, are alive and bright, like lanterns cutting through the dark mist of night. So pretty. What would he do without them?

"Stop looking at me like that pet, or I'll pluck your eyes out again, like the pretty jewels they are." They were soft and veiny in his mouth, popping like gushers. Reverse cursed technique keeps you in one piece.

As if to taunt him, your eyes gleam brighter with your tears, and his hands twitch around you.

He must always catch himself. Sometimes he doesn't. He wants to keep going, keep going further and further till you're nothing more than viscera, blood in his mouth. Until the pain turns you into a curse, held above them all, just like he is. It would be better for you. It would be better for him.

But, no, not yet. He enjoys your human softness. He deserves it.

"Oh dearest." Your tears fall out unbidden, and he sighs, brings you up to his face, and licks the tracks they run down your face. Sweet, just like the rest of you.

You will stay here forevermore. You will never belong to anyone else, much less yourself.

♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡

{Mahito} is a creature born from every nasty thing humanity has ever felt or thought or done. A maelstrom, a calamity. Not a catastrophy. He is still happening after all.

Love is twisted for him, it's a thing of malcontent for him. In fact, it's one of the main things that made him up. A lover's anger at a cheating partner, vicious joy at their pain, the satisfaction of a lover's vengeance. The soft vindictiveness that comes after, when you pick up the pieces and put them back together again. It twists and quivers up in the light, and Mahito offers it all to you with a smile and horrid gleam in his dual colored eyes.

"Stop….stop looking at me with those eyes." You can barely whisper. There is a weight in your chest. Mahito quirks his head, a mockery of innocence, and doesn't even pout to make light of the situation, like he usually does.

Maybe its because he's never gone this far before. His pupils are blown out, leaving hardly any color, and they don't leave you. It scares you. He is smiling, he has been smiling this entire time, and you hate that smile. It has never been a good thing.

"Do I scare you?"

You keep quiet. Because you can't think, and you know better to blurt out the first thing in your head.

Yes, yes, you do. You know you do. And I know you like that.

"Your soul is finally trembling back into place." He hums, trailing his hands along your prone form, and you can't help the little whimper that slips past your clenched teeth. You can't handle it again. But Mahito grins, and squeezes, hard. Like a child with a fresh new toy. You're sure he's leaving bruises. The kindest touch he's given you so far.

"I worried for a moment that I'd have to mish-mash you back together, but you're fine. We're fine."

You are not fine. You are absolutely not fine.

"I tried to be gentle, like you asked me to. I tried to be considerate. But, just, look at you." The shaky exhale of his breath sends your heart racing, and your hands rush over to clamp over his wrists. He lets you.

Your skin is broken and bruised and bleeding. Your head is fuzzy, but panic keeps you alert. Your heart lugs in your chest, heavy and thumping and you feel the blood pound in your ears, it makes you want to tear yourself out open in order to stop the sick rhythm. You are sore, and you can't tell what exactly is broken, or bent out of place, but you're not dead, not this time.

You don't know how many next times you have.

Mahito softly shakes his head, looks down at all your broken and bloody bits. A breathless smile spreads across his face, while his brows furrow in question.

"How am I ever going to replace you?"

You whimper.

♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡

{Kenjaku} has means of helping you 'reincarnate'. He says helping, but really, you don't have a choice in the matter.

He has done this dozens of times, every time he obtains a new body. You are always the first thing he attends to after, your resurrection is priority. He wants your opinion, he says, and your attention, he doesn't. Your love. You're the only one worthy, and interesting, enough of standing by his side. You will remain there.

He smiles at you in this new meat suit, long black hair and smooth skin, a monks ensemble. He sits cross-legged, chin in hand.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes dearest."

"Or what? You'll pluck them out again?" You join him at the low table, if only to glare at him closer. He smiles, almost blissful.

"Not this time, I think this form suits you more than the last. I'd hate to blind you once more."

"I'll kill you one day, Kenjaku." He nods, mockingly.

"They say love is the greatest curse."

"You don't love me." You don't hiss, you don't growl or grit the words out through clenched teeth. Your hatred and malice is a dark, cold thing, settled in the pits of your belly like sediment at the bottom of the deepest ocean. It slips from your lips like the oldest poison.

"We've done this song and dance for centuries. Your morbid curiosity and lust for power is what keeps me here. I'm a pet."

"No love," he reaches over and boops your nose. He has gotten more playful in this body, and it makes you see red. It makes you afraid.

"You're an experiment."

"Like your cursed wombs?"

"No, something more personal." You roll your eyes, and move to serve your own tea. Fuck him.

"And what experiment am I an unwilling participant in, hm? How long it takes to break me?"

"How long it takes for you to love me," he corrects. The lines of the body's scar are shiny pink in the light. You want to tear it bloody.

"Which is one and the same, I suppose."

♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡

{Choso} exists for his brothers, and that is all. That is all he wants and all he feels he was truly made for, and there is no room for anything else.

Anyone else.

Much less you.

"Stop looking at me with…those eyes." He doesn't understand adoration, only duty, and he is unused to the soft rapture in your eyes. It is wasted on a being like him, anyways.

"What eyes?" You droll out, still clearly lost wherever your mind went. He tries not to think where.

"You know what eyes you're making. Stop it." He hates how the softness leaves you, brow tugging down.

"Oh, sorry. I don't want to make you uncomfortable with all the, um, staring."

"It's not the staring. It's the reason behind it. Your feelings are wasted on me. Place them elsewhere." You don't flinch but your shoulders hunch, and he does not take back his words. They are true and they need to be said. Your feelings are wasted on him.

He just wishes he didn't return them.

"...I can't help the fact that I love you."

"You don't." You can't. You can't.

"Even if you did, it doesn't matter."

"Don't say that. Of course it matters."

"If love ever mattered my brothers and I wouldn't exist. You would understand the situation, and what this means for all of us. Your love is shallow, because you only see that which is in front of you." He sighs, and does not meet your gaze. He doesn't know what you see.

"There is no future for us." And no future that he can secure you.

His…father created him and his brothers on a vicious whim. He will not let you be dragged into that same cruelty.

There's no need to weep. He lets you leave to compose yourself, and doesn't let you take his heart with you.

A half curse, half human thing such as he– half wretched and half tainted blood, all sharp edges and harsh things.

He was not made for love. He was not made for soft things. He was born for tragedy and he will end that way too, and he will comply with his duties as an older brother.

He can not offer you soft things. Even if he dreams of your smiles.

So, please. Stop…looking at him with those eyes.

[hockeyisforthegays]

What made you want to write/come up with the idea for heroine?

OOHH thank you for asking i will do my best to answer. some of the details are probably lost to "i didn't store this in my long term memory" tho alsdjjdlska.

so. ok. i was an anime-only at the time and started thinking about it in some form mid-season 2 airing, because like, well. i've never written a fix it fic before, i dont think, but i knew shibuya was gonna wreck shop and it did. but i think hidden inventory arc was a pretty big piece of the conceptual puzzle here too because--

well honestly what a lot of it came down to was: i love yuuji. i love gojo. i love the yuuji-gojo dynamic and i'm always wanting to explore it, have since s1.

and then when i saw?? hidden inventory gojo?? that sure was SOMETHING like omg my man was a bitch. the dichotomy between teen and adult gojo is my muse. so the idea of how yuuji would experience teen gojo....

i remember as a kid in other fandoms reading a couple of fic that had that basic premise of "character time travels and has to fit in with the previous generation as youths" and obviously those left a pretty big impression on me. cause i think abt them all the time. wherever those fics are now they're definitely creditable for heroine existing. but tbh i started writing the first scenes just to see what would happen and then--

then i basically went. oh if yuuji met geto suguru would it be fucked up or what. and then i started that scene and they went no actually, have you considered we have things to bond over? specifically eating gross shit? and then they ran away with the story together and a lot of things kind of followed from that. so another source of inspiration really is just the suguyuu dynamic which i had literally never thought about until i put them in a jar together and shook it. can you say your fic is inspired by itself? cause it a little is.

speaking of how i started writing mid-s2 actually so obviously there wasn't the immediate intention to have "yuuji ate mahitorb" be the source of his abilities. i was at first operating off the theories that sprung from the s1 yuuji-mahito + yuuji-todo + s2 yuuji-choso fights that yuuji inherently had some kind of soul-based ability that affected memories. before of course we learned that choso is just that brocon and todo is indeed just a maladaptive daydreamer for real. (if you read carefully you can probably identify the point where i started catching up with the manga LOL but the first handful of chapters were powered by speculation and spoilers alone)

... tbh some of our plot points, like yuuji not having some memories, are literally a case of "well. i havent figured that out yet, so let's say he doesn't know." asldjalskjdal i have since worked out the mechanics of the fic and its lore and i think it's stronger for having them be mysterious to yuuji but it IS funny to think about how i was just like AND I'LL FIGURE IT OUT LATER. writing heroine is just trust falling into my own arms most of the time

[plastikun]

— “DON’T YOU FEEL SCARED?”

( 01. thought paths )

[contents] [next chapter]

[mahito x reader]

word count : 500

chapter summary : a short introduction to the story

sorry that this is such a lame start lol

‘damn it, of all the days that it could have rained,’ you thought in frustration, running across the wet street once the flashing light of the crosswalk signalled that you could go. you could feel your clothes getting cold and your hair sticking slick to the back of your neck with every raindrop that fell down from the sky. raising a hand to your head to push the wet hair from your eyes, you tried not to bump into anyone else trying to get away from the rain as you continued your miserable journey home through the downpour.

the walk was long and the hour was late, so not even a bus ran that could pick you up and out of the cold weather take you back to your warm and cozy home. in the end you decided to stop and take a breather, bending over and placing your hands on your thighs to catch your breath. you stared up at the dreary sky after you picked yourself back up; it didn’t seem like the rain would decide to let up any time soon, as the clouds hung just as heavy and dark as they had when the rain started. you sighed and reached into your bag for your phone because maybe, just maybe you could call a taxi to take you home. the bag and it’s contents, along with the clothes you were wearing, were wet you noticed, and upon further inspection, your phone was dead as well.

you crouched down low in the middle of the sidewalk with your head in your hands, the world was silent save for the consistent pattering of the rain on the pavement. you must have done something absolutely horrible in your past life to have deserved something like this.

a warm and flickering light pulled you from the pit of worry you had fallen into and caught your attention from the other side of the street. you squinted your eyes a bit in hopes of being able to read the far away sandwich-board sign, but it was too blurry against the rain. it was definitely open though, so maybe you would be able to dry off at least a little and continue the journey home.

inside the small shop were an array of small brown tables with small matching barstools, and plush, softly coloured couches that lined the walls. the lack of people surprised you; why would such a cozy place be so empty?

you opened the glass door, a small jingle above you announcing your arrival.

“oh... hello!” you jumped at the sound of a voice coming from the direction of the register. a head popped out from under the counter and you immediately felt your stomach drop; you had sworn that you had seen the same man on your train to work, as well as the person who had delivered the food to your house last night... maybe he just had one of those faces.

maybe you were just mistaken.

[cursedfortune]

Manito pulls back her hair and oops now it’s turning into wads of strange moveable flesh lol ok

@iam-kingkill

"..." The witch is not surprised. At all. Even if she had been enjoying his fingers combing through her hair she could never not anticipate something - regardless if it came or not. This was just one of those times when he followed through. Which, Mortem has found, was much more common and predictable. What truly surprised the ancient witch was when those hands of his behaved.

Her head tilted back, craning to catch him in her peripheral where her withering gaze could meet his obviously delighted one. With a swat to his wrists the witch exited his vicinity and collected her uncomfortable hair, already heading to the kitchen with the intent of cutting it off and allowing her spell to regenerate the damage she was about to do to her scalp.

"Perhaps you should go. I predict I'm about to have a headache." Mortem shooed whilst pulling out a knife from the drawer. Never in all her years could she have predicted using the classic 'not interested in sex' excuse on Mahito because she wasn't in the mood to fix herself after he touched her a certain way. And yet somehow it almost seemed to work best for him.